Chapter Text
-The Les Amis Offices, Noon, the same day-
They finished up filming right on time, and it was one of few appearances that Grantaire didn’t leave feeling like a piece of shit about. Oftentimes these videos with Enjolras made him feel on edge and overall like a massive douchebag about everything he said, and left knowing he made no real impact, and that any other member of Les Amis would have been a better fit. But it seemed like Enjolras was playing nice; and the story he wanted him to talk about involved a topic Grantaire had brought up in conversation before, but had no idea Enjolras listened to, or even remembered. Even if the story had to do with politics, where Enjolras often had the upper hand in knowledge, Grantaire managed to bring up a few good points, and have an actual, legitimate conversation. He also managed to make Enjolras crack once with a well-timed sound bit he had programmed in right before the show started. From the few times he glanced at the live stream comments racing by, people were actually really excited to see him, with several fans asking him questions directly that had nothing to do with the show at hand. Enjolras’ break was also a big plus, it seemed, with many of the fans considering it a rare event, and lauded Grantaire as the person most likely to make him break, which was perhaps the highest compliment he could ever receive. The rest of the show followed smoothly, and before they knew it, they were all signing off, after a quick runthrough of their programming schedule this week.
The show ended, and Enjolras excused himself to the office to update their socials, and Courfeyrac and Jehan started recording more bts footage, namely about Jehan’s setup and a small office tour. Feuilly had just finished showing Marius around, and it seemed like the two had settled into a comfortable silence in the editing bay, which meant it was time for Grantaire to go film with Bahroel. It was days like this that made Grantaire feel like he had an actual job, and not some guy who rolled in 3 times a week to hit some buttons on a controller for a living. Bahroel and him were purposefully struggling through Baldur’s Gate on the hardest setting, and while trying to get the worst possible ending. It was hard work being this awful. A few hours had gone by quickly, and it wasn’t until their short break they noticed that the work Discord was all abuzz.
Courfeyrac had dropped a link in their discord, which was not a rare occurrence. They had to just give him his own spam channel a while back, but it looked like whatever people were talking about was in the main channel, where the actual real-life professional business stuff happened. Somehow, Courfeyrac became their point of contact when other creators or brands wanted to collaborate with them, which usually came down to him trying to coerce the other Les Amis into whatever dumb crossover another YouTuber had already coerced him in.
The link led to an e-mail from a huge YouTuber that had reached out to them before, some popular creator that hosted these grand events that cost millions of dollars, usually featuring different internet personalities competing for prizes. Bahroel, Jehan, and Courfeyrac had done one last year, which involved trying to win a massive hide and seek competition in an abandoned mall, none of which made it very far, probably due to Courfeyrac’s insistence that they all hid together, and also, tried to constantly move to get ‘a better spot’, which lead to them being found somewhat towards the middle. This event, it seemed, was an airsoft tournament in conjunction with some video game, where they needed a team of 5 to compete.
Grantaire didn’t really do any events where he had to represent the Les Amis, feeling as if there were multiple better options, namely, anyone else. But this seemed to be a physical challenge, as opposed to whatever weird competition they normally were invited to, which meant Grantaire would have some kind of advantage. He knew he probably didn’t rank among the smartest of the Les Amis (Probably would go to Enjolras of Combeferre, or, if the topic were gross medical issues, Joly), but he could probably out-punch most of them. To his knowledge, he and Bahroel were the only ones who did any kind of athletic training regularly, which had to count for something. He had no idea how well boxing would cross over to airsoft, but it had to count for something. Grantaire browsed through the rest of the e-mail with mild interest. By the time he clicked back the server, there were already a few people talking about wanting to do it, and a few others trying to goad others into doing it. Grantaire put his phone down just as Bahroel started looking over at it in interest.
“Could be super fun. It’s like, a whole setup. Like Hunger Games.” Bahroel said, turning his phone so Grantaire could see the map.
“More like some Fortnite clone. We’re in the gamer room, we have to speak like gamers. None of this book crap. The only books we read here are gaming manuals” Grantaire responded, scrolling through the few other unread messages on their server, clicking to react on a few things that the other Les Amis were saying.
“Speak for yourself. I read all the time. Some of us can balance brain and brawn.” Grantaire resisted the urge to point out that they had to look up how to finish a quest, that they were given explicit directions on how to finish, because Bahroel was too busy talking about how attractive one of the female characters was to actually listen. “I’ll go if you go. Could be fun.”
“You just want the opportunity to hit someone in the face without going to jail.” Grantaire muttered back, the idea barely registering as a legitimate option in his mind.
“That’s true. Enjolras would make us play for a charity, so it’s all for good. And it looks like they’re talking him into playing this time.” Bahroel mentioned knowingly, making Grantaire immediately switch back to the right channel.
Combeferre was bringing up a good point, that the e-mail had asked for some of the main people associated with the channel, in order to get more people watching. Sure, their fans would watch if any of the Les Amis participated in anything, (seeing the amount of Les Amis specific jokes that were in the comment section of any video they so much as appeared in the background of was proof enough of that fact) but it would be that much more popular at the prospect of seeing the normally-composed Enjorlas get hit in the face with an airsoft gun. And somehow, Enjolras seemed halfway convinced to do it. The day of filming would be one of his days that he wasn’t set to film anything at Les Amis, plus, the Les Amis were trying to collaborate with other creators more. Having the face of the company there would help them get more attention, and maybe have them invited to other projects in the future.
The Les Amis channel stood in a weird place in the YouTube landscape. Sure they were popular and they had fans, and their merch did pretty well, and they weren’t struggling by any means, but due to the outspoken nature of their members (namely Enjolras) some brands and creators saw them as too risky to partner with. It didn’t help that every time they got a brand deal, Enjorlas would have to do a huge deep dive on the company to make sure what they were promoting was good, and more often than not, didn’t come back with good results. They’ve only ever had a few other creators appear on their channel, but they tended to mainly show up in Jehan’s drawing stream, or playing video games with Grantaire and Bahroel. Trying to get anyone who was willing to sit next to Enjolras and his blunt way of talking and his cold eyes was a hard task. And it didn’t help that Enjolras couldn’t fake more than a professional level of interest in anybody, which made for a weird energy.
In his time thinking about anything else besides the point at hand, Enjolras had reluctantly agreed to be a part of the team, so long as the money they got actually went to charity, and he wouldn’t be asked to go to the next one. From there, the team filled out quickly. Courfeyrac hopped on board, deeming it fair since he made Enjolras do it. Then Bousset joined, mainly since he had done airsoft before, and would be their one small advantage. Bahroel and Grantaire looked at each other, having some sort of mental war before sighing and typing in the chat that Bahroel and him were also in. With the team set, Courfeyrac said he would forward them whatever information he got after this, and the chat quickly moved on to Jehan trying to recruit people for a video about Tarot reading.
“Maybe this could be your chance to make a move.” Bahroel said suddenly, as if it had been on his mind nonstop since the event came up. Which, knowing Bahroel, was most likely the case. Grantaire looked at him as if he were stupid, which, knowing Bahroel, was also most likely the case.
“Make a move? What, financially? See if this guy’s hiring a guy to sit in the corner and play video games all day as he makes sarcastic, yet witty quips?” Grantaire said, trying in vain to change the course of the conversation.
“No, on Enjy.” Bahroel added, as Grantaire turned his head to make sure the door was closed. In equal parts to make sure Enjolras didn’t hear them discuss his crush, and also, the horrendous use of a nickname he detested.
“Yeah, while i’m all sweaty and in 4 layers of clothing, and you can’t see my face. That’s when i’m at my most supple and sexy.” Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Plus, we just got on some kind of neutral ground. Seems like i’m skipping a few steps if I go dying in his arms in the trenches of war.”
“I don’t think you’re going to die on the airsoft field.”
“Obviously you don't know my plans. I’m going out like a hero. I’m going to throw myself on top of a grenade to save everyone. I’ll be lauded as a hero. People will write songs about me. I would inspire millions. Get some ugly building named after me.”
“I don’t think there are grenades in airsoft.” Bahroel added.
“Besides the point.” Grantaire said, checking his phone to see a new channel was added for the people in the airsoft game, with a new link with all the information.
“It’s a chance to get closer to him. Like, physically and emotionally. I don’t know how athletic Enjolras is, but I know you are pretty fucking strong. Do something with that.” Bahroel spoke, with the grace of someone who did not constantly strike out with women.
“What, like pick him up and throw him at the enemy? I’m sure he’d love that. The ol’ fastball special.” Grantaire replied, scrolling through the information. The document basically said that next week they’d take 2 days to film; the first being a trial run to make sure they knew how everything worked, and the second would be the actual filming date. Seemed like they would also have cameras attached to their helmets, and they would know the other teams quicker to the actual day of filming. But it also looked like they needed to provide their own airsoft gear.
“No dude, stop being difficult.” Bahroel said.
“I’m not being difficult, you’re just not making any sense.” Grantaire responded. It was at that moment there was a tap at the door, before it opened quickly, revealing Enjorlas on the other side. Grantaire reacted as if he were caught passing notes in class, and dropped his phone on the carpet in surprise.
“Am I interrupting something?” Enjorlas asked, looking between the two of them as if he could sense the conversation they were just having.
“No dude, you’re all good. We just got done filming the last episode. What’s up?” Bahroel said, in place of Grantaire, who seemed unable to talk, despite the conversation Enjorlas and him were having earlier placing them on the same level.
“I’m assuming you read the e-mail about needing gear. We were going to go now to try and find some if you wanted to join.” From behind Enjolras, almost like a totem pole, Courfeyrac rested his chin on the top of Enjolras’ head, which Enjolras looked less than pleased about.
“We gotta look cute if we’re gonna win. No use in playing if we don’t look cute.” Courfeyrac said.
“We need to be safe. I’m not having airsoft bruises all over my face for the next week.” Enjorlas said, raising on his toes quickly so Courfeyrac’s teeth clinked together, which made him take a step back.
“Fine. Both. Bousset is coming too.” Courfeyrac said, dangling his keys next to Enjorlas’ head.
Grantaire nodded in response, and made eye contact with Enjorlas as he turned to leave. Bahroel and Grantaire then had the awkward task of trying to stand up from bean bag chairs, and after making it out into the parking lot, and lots of arm nudging and awkward eyebrow raises from Bahroel, began to cram into Courfeyrac’s car.
Courfeyrac took the driver’s seat, and Bousset claimed the passenger seat, claiming he would get sick if he sat in the back, especially with Courfeyrac’s driving. Which meant Grantaire, Enjorlas, and Bahroel got to cram in the back. Great. Bahroel, ever the traitor, took the seat behind Courfeyrac, leaving Enjorlas and Grantaire to split the middle, and other side seat.
“I’m shorter. It’s fine.” Enjolras said with the air of someone who had been getting the middle seat for most of his life, and had accepted it long ago. Grantaire laughed as he held the door open for Enjolras, as if it were some royal carriage.
“Your chariot awaits, Apollo.” He said, in a mock deep bow.
“I don’t think chariots have doors.” Enjolras responded, gliding elegantly into the backseat.
Grantaire soon followed, overshooting how far he needed to go in, which left him crammed against Enjolras for just a moment before he scooted back towards the door. He was all at once hyper-aware of how close he was to Enjolras, how nice he looked in comparison to the ratty sweatshirt Grantaire had found on his floor that morning, and how completely out of his league Enjorlas was. It seemed almost impossible that they would exist on the same plane, and even less likely Enjolras would even give him the time of day. Enjolras leaned forward to rattle off 3 different store options he had already found, making sure to mention which were closest, which were most likely to have everything they needed, and which were most likely to let them film without making a big deal. Grantaire buckled himself in now that he had a bit more room to move, his hand having to press awkwardly against Enjolras’ hip to buckle into the seat.
It was going to be a long drive.
Enjolras had plotted their first stop to be an army surplus store since, according to the bit of research he had managed to do, most airsoft outfits were made up of fatigues. And, as Courfeyrac pointed out, it would be easiest to find matching outfits if they were all just old army clothes. After piling out of the car, they made their way through the shop, and, with the help of the nice old man behind the counter, managed to wrangle together camo pants, a dark green shirt, and dark brown gloves in everyone’s size. They all had boots of some kind already, so besides Courfeyrac recorded some clips of everyone trying on outfits, which would serve as some kind of fashion montage in his video, they left quickly. Grantaire was honestly surprised how quickly they got in and out, which was most likely attributed to everyone still having some kind of work to do when they got back.
In the short drive back to the studio, Enjolras had found the rest of their pieces online, namely padding, and purchased it quickly. As he leaned back in his seat, he took another glance at his phone, and Grantaire looked as a frown formed on his face. Enjolras nudged Grantaire with the hand holding his phone, showing him the screen. It seemed like the girl that messaged Enjolras on that ancestry website had responded, and Grantaire wrapped his hand around the phone to try to keep it steady while reading. She seemed very aware of how off the situation was, and even extended an apology for how his family reacted. She also thanked him for the information he gave her about their family, joking about how she never knew how to fill out the ‘family history’ portion at any doctor’s office. The message ended with a few more open-ended questions, mainly about Enjorlas himself, as well as a more direct time and place to meet for coffee. Seemed normal enough. Grantaire had no idea what the big deal was. He raised his eyebrows as if trying to goad Enjolras into talking, and Enjolras replied with a frustrated noise. Before Grantaire could figure out what was going on, they had arrived back at the studio, and piled out of the car as gracefully as they could with their new bag of clothes. Grantaire saw Enjolras hang back a few steps from the rest of the group, still staring down at his phone, as if it had personally offended him somehow. Grantaire matched pace with him, and when Enjolras noticed he was walking alongside him, shoved his phone back in his pocket.
“I have no idea what else to say.” Enjolras said, the frustration almost clear in his voice. This wasn’t a topic he could research and spend hours perfecting before sending off; this was just feelings and emotions, plain and simple, and Enjolras was drowning. If that was one subject Grantaire might have had the upper hand in, it was human communication. Sure Enjolras could write essays and powerpoints and research around any of them, but there was a reason he was not the point of contact for outsiders.
“Well, go meet her for coffee. That’s the first thing.” Grantaire said, ignoring the look Enjolras gave him. “What? You already know she’s not a serial killer. We all looked at her channel last year. What’s the harm?”
With that Enjolras looked back up, stopping just short of the entrance of the building, leaning his head against the brick exterior of the wall.
“And then what? We become best friends? We never talk again? It’s obvious she needs some kind of familial connection, but I don’t know how to do that.” Enjolras said, taking his phone out again to only hopelessly stare at the screen, where more messages had started piling up.
“Okay, you’re jumping way ahead. She’s not asking you for your spleen.. She just wants to get a drink.” Grantaire said. He didn’t have any siblings of his own, but Eponine and Gavroche were basically his siblings at this point, and it wasn’t as if their parents gave any kind of a shit about them. “And if it sucks and you hate each other, hey, you don’t have to see her every day. At least you both now have some kind of familial connection. That’s kind of cool. It’s a cool like… two truths and a lie. You have a law degree, you have a secret half-sister,...”
“I love the government.” Enjolras finished, the timing of the joke slightly off with his anxiousness, still staring down at the screen.
“That’s the spirit.” Grantaire said, watching as Enjolras pecked a message back quickly, before nodding his head to go back inside the building.
“Thank you again. This whole day has felt weird.”
—-------
Somewhere in Santa Monica, in the not-so distant past.
Cosette checked her phone for the umpteenth time, wondering if her barrage of messages were coming on a bit too strong. She couldn’t help but be excited! Cosette had signed up for this ancestry website about 5 years ago, at the encouragement of her adoptive dad, who put in any amount of time he had to help her try and research. From what he had told her, her mother had asked him personally to raise Cosette, and he had come immediately over to do so, and they’ve been a little family ever since. And Cosette loved her dad, and appreciated all the sacrifices he made for her, but it always felt like something was missing. She knew she had to have some kind of family out there; a cousin or an aunt or anything, but with no knowledge of who her father was, besides a first name, it had come to a standstill. Cosette still checked the website every so often, but found nothing had ever changed.
It wasn’t until one random summer day, when Cosette was working on some homework in the school library, that she started to receive a barrage of e-mails from the website, saying not only did she have a close genetic match get added to the system, but that person had filled in mountains of information about his family, going back a good amount of generations. And from there, that information had made a multitude of hits across various records and photographs in the database, which Cosette went through excitedly. After hitting the guy’s profile, she was surprised to see that they shared one parent, their father, but had totally separate mothers. From the little Cosette knew, her mother and father were never married, but judging by the fact that this guy was a few years older than her, seemingly already out of college, this put her in an awkward position. But, she hadn’t waited this long to get stopped by a weird circumstance. Life was full of weird circumstances. She immediately sent out a flurry of messages to his account, introducing herself and apologizing for the weird situation this might have put him in. She also asked a few of her most burning questions; the ones that stuck most in her head as she laid awake at night, trying to imagine the man her father was. Was he kind? Cruel? Did he have the same blonde hair that it seemed both of his children shared? Did he know about her existence?
She quickly followed it up with some easier questions, pointing out with excitement that both of them had been born in France, and had immigrated to the U.S. at different times, somehow both ending up in California. From the brief look through their families history, it looked as if they were the first people in their line to ever leave Europe. She asked about his degree, noting they both wanted to work in the legal system for the betterment of others, and asked if a strong sense of righteousness also ran in their family. She also sent a link to her YouTube channel; a video where she followed a typical day in her life. She didn’t expect an answer right away, but as the weeks went by, she lost more and more hope that he would say anything at all.
Cosette felt a bit embarrassed. This guy might not even know she was alive, and might be having a total meltdown right now. His entire world could be splitting apart at the revelation that his father might not have been entirely faithful. And she didn’t even ask him anything about himself! Cosette quickly rectified this by asking a few more questions, mainly about his childhood and his early days, and even divulged a little about her own upbringing, before she got properly adopted. She didn’t want to guilt him by any chance, but maybe there was some connection to be made there, a lifeline she could throw out to help them meet on common ground. But these too, went unanswered.
After a few weeks, Cosette decided to answer her own questions. She typed his (their, she was probably never going to get used to that) father’s name into google, seeing a decent amount of results. Seemed like he served in some ministry position in France, and now did work with the French embassy in San Francisco, working on legal cases. So it seemed legal knowledge did run in the family and she realized, with a thrill, that she had gotten that without even knowing.
Next, she looked up her half-brother’s name, and was shocked at the amount of hits she got. Sure there was going to be an Instagram account or a Facebook, but instead, there were multiple wikipedia pages, articles, and even a patreon link under his name. She felt a little weird going down the wikipedia of someone she knew (was knew the right word? They were aware of each other, so she supposed that counted), and so she clicked on his public instragram profile. She saw the same curly blonde hair and blue-gray eyes staring back at her, often in some position at what looked like a rally, or a conference, or behind the scenes shots at a studio.
She was honestly surprised she had never heard of him, or his channel before. Cosette had a decent following of her own, mainly doing daily vlogs of her life as a University student, and a few chill video game streams when she got the chance. She wasn’t famous or rolling in money by any means, but it helped fill the time between her work and the few activities she got to do with her dad. She was a little… awkward around people. She attributed it mostly to the fact that the prime years of her socializing as a child were spent under the tutelage of horrible parents who never let her talk to anyone, and so by the time she got properly adopted, she was already behind. It also didn’t help that her dad tended to be a bit… overprotective. Paranoid, even. Their huge mansion in Santa Monica lay behind an iron security gate, and Cosette didn’t really leave unless she told him about it first. It wasn’t that he was controlling, he just worried so much when she was out, it made her feel bad the few times she left without telling him. They trusted each other, and Cosette didn’t want to do anything to breach that trust.
Julien, who was mainly referred to as his last name to most of his friends, had still not responded to her messages a month later, but she tried to never lose hope. She was relentless. She’s been waiting her whole life for a family, and this wasn’t going to stop her by any means. Cosette started messaging him whenever she had a spare thought that somehow related to their shared genealogy. Did he have any allergies? Because Cosette always got so stuffy during Spring, and could not stand the pollen at all. Did he also have a love for spicy food? Because she had tried a new Thai place, and her dad could barely stomach her food. Was he happy? It looked like he had a lot of friends, but from the few times she saw him live on YouTube, he shared that same air of detached awkwardness that Cosette seemed to carry down in her bones.
It took over a year for him to finally respond one day, on a random day in the summer. He apologized profusely for not answering earlier, and assured her it was nothing that had to do with her. He told her, quite honestly, that he had no idea how to approach the situation, and had just been pushing it back and pushing it back until he could completely figure it out. Which, he realized, was never going to come.
He then went on to answer her questions, one by one, in as much detail as he seemed to know. His family had moved to California when he was 12. He had no idea about her existence until she messaged him, informing her that he would have still been a toddler when it happened, so he had no recollection if his parents were fighting, or if he had gone away for a period of time. He did tell her, however, that he had spoken to his parents about it, and his mother seemed as if she already knew about it, and it fractured whatever remaining goodwill that existed between him and his father. Julien, (or as he insisted she call him, Enjolras, since “No one called him Julien besides his mother”) assured her this was nothing to do with her, and that the relationship between them had deteriorated over the years due to his father’s lack of approval over the life he was living.
After a few moments, he also said he had horrible pollen allergies, but only had a mild tolerance for spice. And that he hoped her University work was going well, and that was available for any other questions. Cossette immediately fired off a response, saying she was just happy he answered, and that she would love to meet him for coffee at some point. It took a little bit more time for him to answer, but he replied that he was happy to go get coffee, and was free the day that she suggested. Cosette smiled at her screen, mentally adding the date to her calendar. She hadn’t told her dad about all of this going on yet; not for any malevolent reason, but he got misty eyed enough when she asked about her mom, and the knowledge of a half-sibling would perhaps be a little odd. She counted the days in her head. It would be next week, when Cosette had a day totally off for schooling. She could totally do this. She pulled out a notebook and started jotting down any question or talking point she could think of. She was finally getting what she wanted, after so many years of having to stand by and do nothing.